


Personal Space

by TheAvengersMascot



Category: hiddlesworth bromance, thor rpf
Genre: Community: norsekink, Gen, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, I'm so sorry Tom, Molestation, No non-con between Tom and Chris (in case you were worried), RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1415980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAvengersMascot/pseuds/TheAvengersMascot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An innocent mistake lands Tom in an interrogation room. </p>
<p>A security check goes from routine to a nightmare when one of the officers questioning him reveals less than savoury appetites.</p>
<p>Fortunately, Tom isn't as alone as he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Space

**Author's Note:**

> De-anoning from a norsekink fill I posted the other day. The original prompt requested innocent!Tom being subjected to a really invasive and inappropriate strip search. It also asked for some Hiddlesworth but I can only write those two together if it's an AU. The idea I had for the story fit in so well with our reality I had to make it Gen.
> 
> If anyone is interested, this is the original prompt: http://norsekink.livejournal.com/12950.html?thread=31297174#t31297174  
> (I did deviate from it quite a bit, which I didn't realize until I was finished)

 

Tom walked briskly through the airport despite his exhaustion. The last month promoting _The Dark World_ was the most insane whirlwind of activity, starting in Australia and not stopping until the final premiere in L.A. It was incredible seeing so many fans turn up everywhere. It's one thing to be told 'there's lots of fans in this country or that' but to see them firsthand was unlike anything he ever thought he'd experience. He was truly a blessed man and knowing he was returning to the theatre, his first acting love, now that it was over made it even that much sweeter.

If there was one down side to it all, it was the travel. Different countries are great once you're in them; it's just the getting there that's not much fun. Airport security was always stressful, more so now that he was being recognized more often. Then there was all the sitting on those long flights. He was a very physical person; he loved being on the move. So being confined in a plane for hours on end was hard.

Tom sighed as he approached security. He made sure his passport was in hand, along with his boarding pass. He remembered at the last moment that he hadn't checked his carry-on to make sure there were none of the banned items in it. Oh well, there was probably nothing. He'd done so much travelling of late he was well-practiced.

Which was why it came as such a shock when he was pulled out of the line after his bag went through the scanner.

One of the TSA agents gripped his arm in a way that verged on painful and led him through a series of corridors and doors requiring key cards to a small room with a table and two chairs. He was pushed into one of them and told not to move. A moment later, another agent came in holding Tom's bag and passport.

"Mr. Hiddleston, this is your bag, correct?" the man asked without preamble.

"Yes it is," he replied.

"And you packed it yourself?"

"Yes."

"Did you leave your bag unattended at any time?"

"No, I didn't." Tom started feeling more nervous with each question. This was all feeling like an interrogation and he was wracking his brain to figure out which of his carry-on items would cause trouble.

The security person, who was roughly about the size of Chris Hemsworth at his Thor fighting weight, reached into the bag and pulled out a gun. "Then this belongs to you?"

For one terrifying moment, Tom's mind went completely blank. Then it took off at a thousand miles a minute. _There was a gun in his bag. How was there a_ gun _in his bag? There couldn't be a gun in his bag unless someone else put it there. Oh god, he was being set up for something like in a bad movie..._

When his racing mind paused to catch its breath, Tom took a good look at the gun. Then he burst out with a laugh which sounded just a shade hysterical.

"Oh my god," he huffed out. Neither agent so much as cracked a smile. Tom took a deep breath and started to explain. "Look, I'm an actor. That's a prop gun. It was part of a sketch I did for MTV. You can look it up online. The host of the program is a man named Josh Horowitz. He gave me the prop as a thank-you afterward. I wasn't flying that day but I was carrying that bag. I must have put it in there and forgot about it."

He reached the end of his story and noticed with some concern the two agents' expressions hadn't changed at all. Tom gulped and said, "If you get my mobile I can give you the number for Josh and the producers. They'll confirm everything."

One of the agents held up the toy. "You were going to bring a gun on an airplane. "

A fresh wave of fear rippled through Tom. Hadn't he just said the opposite? "No. I mean, not intentionally. And it's just a prop, a toy."

"Looks real enough to me," the other agent put in.

"What?" Tom gasped before he could catch himself. He knew not to mess around with these guys but this was getting ridiculous and not a little scary. "I've handled firearms before and that thing looks nothing like real at all. It's plastic. A child would know it's fake."

"So you thought it was okay to bring a gun on a plane because it's a fake."

"No," Tom insisted. "I told you I forgot it was in there. I–"

"Where have you handled guns before?"

"I played a police detective on a television series. All the actors were given training." Tom looked back and forth between the two men staring him down. The one maintained a blank expression but the other... the other was eyeing him with something hungry in his gaze, something which made Tom altogether uncomfortable. "Look, if it makes anything easier, take it. It was a silly little gag gift. I don't need it for anything."

The blank faced agent turned to the other and said, "I'm gonna see where they are on the background check."

He left without waiting for a response, leaving Tom with the one who was openly leering at him now. "Stand up."

Tom blinked. "What? Why?"

The agent withdrew something from a holster Tom immediately recognized as a baton, a night stick they called them in America, one of the collapsable ones. "You don't ask questions. You follow directions. Now stand up."

A lump of anxiety lodged in his throat making it impossible for him to take a deep breath to stay calm. He stood up, the metal legs of his chair scraping on the floor. It was then Tom realized there were no cameras in this room. That had to be a bad sign. Wouldn't they want video evidence of someone caught with weapons or drugs? If not, why not? The agent came closer, walking around to his side of the table and Tom took a step back without noticing. The other man pointed the baton at his chest and said one word.

"Strip."

Every alarm bell in Tom's mind went off simultaneously. He took another half-step back. "W-why?"

The agent cocked his head to the side and began tapping the baton against his thigh. "You attempted to bring a firearm on a plane. We have make sure you're not smuggling anything else."

"Shouldn't there be two of you present when you search someone?" Tom asked, offering silent thanks to whatever part of his brain stored that little bit of information.

"You trying to tell me how to do my job now?"

"No, no. Not at all," he said in a rush, hoping to placate the man. "It's just I... I'm not comfortable doing this with just the two of us in here."

"Yeah, right," the agent replied with a sneer. "You're an actor. I've seen European movies. You all get naked all the time."

Tom's mouth dropped open. Yes, he'd done nude scenes. Most actors did at least once or twice, but surely this man knew the situation wasn't the same. A film set and an interrogation room were in no way equal circumstances.

"Please, can we just wait for your partner to come back?" he pleaded. "I'll do whatever you need then–"

"If you'll do it then, you can do it now."

Tom couldn't help but keep glancing at the door. The agent laughed when he saw it. "He won't be back for a while. Background checks can take hours."

The anxiety Tom felt from the moment this nightmare began bloomed into full-blown terror. There was no escape, no way out without making everything worse. If he made for the door he'd get himself beaten or arrested or both.

"Sir, please," he tried again. "I'm not trying to be difficult but–"

The agent cut him off. "Take. Them off. Now."

The sound of his voice made Tom shudder. He sounded just like all those sexual predators on TV crime procedurals. Tom tried to be objective about the situation despite how anxious he was. Even though it was true, he knew how ridiculous the story about the prop gun sounded. If the Transportation Safety Authority made an issue out of it, he could easily find himself unable to leave England by plane for years, not to mention possibly facing criminal charges. Resisting was just as likely to get him arrested or put on the no-fly list. There was no good way out of this. All there was, was getting it over with.

Taking a ragged breath to steady himself, Tom reached up and started undoing his shirt buttons. The TSA officer took a step back and crossed his arms, looking all too pleased with this development. For a moment, Tom considered taking his time in the hopes the other agent would return. His fingers slipped when it occurred to him the the second man might be no better than this one, or might even want to join the fun. In the end he thought it was best not to do anything to provoke this guy and resumed disrobing at a normal pace.

All too soon he was down to his undershirt and boxers. He hesitated and gave a pleading look to the officer in the room. The other man pointed the baton at his remaining clothes, then to the table. No chance then.

Tom gripped the hem of his shirt and after a momentary hesitation, pulled it over his head. He dropped it on the table beside the rest of his clothes. Then, closing his eyes, he slipped his boxers down his thighs, past his knees, all the way to his ankles. He stepped out of them without looking up which was why he didn't notice the agent coming closer. Before Tom could pick up his underpants, a polished black shoe hoofed them away. He flinched back and straightened up to find the agent standing only a few inches away. The other man was close enough Tom could feel his warm breath on his face. He brought the baton up and dragged the tip of it along Tom's jaw.

"Hands behind your head and open your mouth."

With jerky movements, he raised his arms to his head, lacing his fingers in back. Letting his jaw fall open was more difficult. His whole body was tense with nerves and his muscles were far more inclined to clench than relax. The agent, who at some point put on a pair of latex gloves, grabbed his jaw and forced it all the way open. He shoved his fingers in Tom's open mouth, digging around between cheek and gums, under his tongue, and behind his lips. It was uncomfortable, but Tom experienced worse from dentists in his life. His greater concern was the baton tucked under the agent's arm. He didn't want to give the other man any reason to use it.

The agent released his jaw and combed his fingers through Tom's hair, then swept them down his arms and upper body. Tom tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling when the hands reached his genitals. Compared with the rest of the search these touches were almost gentle, which in fact made it worse. It felt less like being frisked than it did being fondled. He was in no state to feel aroused by the action but that made it no less uncomfortable. From Tom's perspective the agent seemed to linger there, almost caressing his member before letting go. For half a heartbeat, he thought they were done.

"Turn around."

"Please, I–"

"Turn. Around."

Tom did as he was told, trying to quell his panic the whole time. Maybe this guy just had a really strange manner that read as 'pervert'. Maybe Tom was just worked up over the whole situation with the gun and was letting his fear run amok with his imagination.

"Put your hands in those circles," he ordered Tom.

Tom unclasped his hands from behind his head and placed them into two red circles on the wall just above the height of his elbows.

"Feet on the line."

He looked down and saw a wide line painted on the floor behind his heels. Tom shuffled his feet back to place them where he was told. The end result was Tom bent slightly at the waist, his ass pointed toward the TSA officer. _Please, please, please let this not be what it feels like._

"That's quite the view there, pretty," came a voice behind him.

_Oh god_. Any doubt Tom had about the other man's intentions were erased by those words and by the feel of the baton probing his ass.

"Very nice. Don't move, now."

Tom clenched his teeth to keep himself from making any sounds. The next thing he knew, two hands were groping his rear.

"Never can be too thorough," the agent chuckled as he spread Tom's ass cheeks apart.

Tom swallowed back a whimper. He could feel the agent's breath on his back and it made him shiver with revulsion. The agent read it the complete opposite way.

"I knew it," he drawled. "All you artsy types are a bunch of deviants."

"No," Tom choked out.

The other man didn't hear or didn't care. A hot, wet tongue licked a stripe up one cheek and Tom instinctively jerked away from it. A second later, the baton slapped against his thigh. The impact, though not as hard as it could have been was still hard enough to leave a bruise and send a shock wave through him. It was a warning, that much was clear, and Tom's breath caught in his throat.

"What did I tell you?"

"... d-d-don't move," Tom stammered once he found his voice.

"Are you going to do move again?"

The end if the baton pressed against his hole and it took every bit of strength Tom had to stay still. His fingers twitched constantly against the wall almost in time with the intense thudding of his heart. Tears were spilling from his eyes, his body's reflex reaction from being so terrified.

"No," he forced out.

"Good boy. Now let's see what else you've been naughty about."

The baton disappeared again and Tom let his head hang down in relief even as a shuddering breath shook his body. He didn't know if the agent was sadistic enough to try shoving the weapon inside him and had no desire to find out. There were a few more sounds behind him but Tom didn't pay them any attention until the hands returned to his body, one on his hip and one sliding into his crack. The hand on his ass was covered with what could only be lubricant.

_oh god oh god oh god_

Tom squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to tense up more than he already was. This was going to happen and his only option was to get through it. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and prayed to whatever higher power might be listening that it would be quick. A slick finger pressed at his hole and though he couldn't stop himself jumping a little, Tom stayed still enough to avoid another crack of the baton. His fingers curled against the wall, nails scraping on the drywall. The agent's finger slipped all the way inside and Tom only just stopped himself from biting through his lip. He felt the finger twisting and pressing his insides, felt his own muscles fluttering in response. Then suddenly it was gone. Tom held his breath, heart thudding against his ribs.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, pretty. We're just getting started."

This time Tom couldn't help it when a whimper sounded from his mouth.

"Aw, don't worry, kid. I know what a perv like you wants."

Tom didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the reassuring tone the other used. He even gave Tom a pat on the thigh, as if consoling him. There wasn't much time to react though. Two fingers were pushing at his entrance now. Tom gasped, a noise sounding far too much like one of pleasure even though it was from pain. Once the fingers made it all the way in, the officer kept twisting and curling them and Tom felt his muscles start easing around the intrusion. Then the fingers grazed a spot that made him jump again, but this time it was for a very different reason. It was a few heartbeats before his fear addled brain understood. The agent worked it out at the same time.

"Ah," he moaned, and pressed his fingers against Tom's prostate again.

The second time, there was no mistaking the sparks of pleasure that shot through his core. Tom leaned his head on the wall and closed his eyes tight, trying to think of anything but how those two fingers insisted on stimulating his prostate. The agent was relentless and to his horror, Tom felt his own body responding. Blood rushed to his loins, making his cock stir and then start to rise.

"See?" the man breathed on Tom's neck. "All you needed was the right kind of motivation. I bet you'd deny it 'til the cows come home, but you're enjoying it."

With each press of those fingers, Tom felt himself get harder and harder and it was mortifying. His fingers curled toward his palms, almost making fists against the wall.

_This can't be happening. This can't be happening,_ his mind kept repeating. He fought to regain any scrap of control but it was useless. Soon the tip of his cock was leaking and he gave up on silence and started to beg.

"Please stop. Please," he entreated the other man. He had to make him stop before he came. "I don't want this."

"Your body's telling a different story there. You expect me to listen to what you say when I can clearly tell you're lying?"

The agent kept rubbing Tom's prostate, his other hand helping manipulate Tom's hips into moving in sync and making sure he found that sensitive gland every time.

"I'm not lying sir, I s-swear."

God but was it hard to think straight. Tom was caught between the pleasurable sensation filling his core and disgust at himself for giving in. Rational thinking would tell him all that was happening was nerve stimulation and he had no conscious control over how his body responded. None of that mattered when he felt his orgasm building. He was about to climax from what amounted to sexual assault, poorly disguised as a cavity search. He'd never be able to live with himself after that.

"Of course you are. Look at yourself. You're practically vibrating with pleasure. You love having someone else in control of you."

"I... " Tom wanted to disagree but the words wouldn't come. His mouth just hung agape while his chest heaved with panting breaths.

"Just stop fighting it," a lusty voice said in his ear. "We both know you want it. It'll be so much easier if you let it happen."

The massaging against his prostate sped up and Tom could do nothing about the moan in his throat. He wasn't about to listen to the other man's disgusting words but soon it wouldn't matter either way. No amount of mental resistance would stop what was happening. His orgasm was as powerful as it was painful, with him still trying to fight it the whole time. The agent didn't stop moving his fingers until Tom's cock was completely spent.

"Now are you really going to tell me you didn't want that?"

Tom felt the other man move away but he stayed leaning against the wall. Now the moment had passed, there was nothing to dilute the disgust he felt. It was so intense, so overwhelming he wanted to vomit then and there just to try and get it out. Something soft flicked against his calf and he opened his eyes to see his boxers laying at his feet.

"Clean yourself up," the agent said. "Wouldn't want anyone out there knowing what a degenerate you are."

It seemed to be over for real this time and he had no qualms about doing what he was told. The sooner he wiped away the signs of what happened, the sooner he could get on to pretending it didn't. He wiped himself off, using his underpants in lieu of a cloth or tissue. He even went so far as to wipe up the stray drops of come that splattered the wall and floor. The agent laughed as he did it, telling him how good he looked on his hands and knees. Tom gagged, his mind conjuring an image of him sucking the the other man off. When he was done, he stood up but couldn't make himself look at the agent. Instead, he fixed his eyes on the table where his clothes were.

"May I get dressed?" he asked, voice hollow.

"If you have to."

Tom didn't have to see the other man to know he was smiling. He heard it in his voice. Without asking permission, he stuffed his soiled garment in his bag and got dressed. When he was done, he sat in the same chair he occupied when he was first brought there. He wiped away the last vestiges of his tears and hid his face behind his hands while he did his best to pretend everything was normal. It was impossible. Sitting put just enough pressure on his behind to give him a constant reminder of groping hands and intrusive fingers but he didn't want to stand because his thigh was throbbing where he was hit with the baton. He couldn't win.

It seemed like hours before the other agent came back, seemingly oblivious to what happened in his absence. The entire time, Tom had to struggle to keep composed. When he was at last told he was free to go, he had almost no energy left. His feet could only manage a shuffling gait as he was escorted back out to the terminal. Once there, Tom found the nearest washroom, went straight into a stall, and threw up.

~~~|~~~

Chris picked up his bag from the conveyor belt and gave a smile to the beleaguered looking staff behind the scanner. It couldn't be a fun job. He only made it two steps before he saw something odd. Tom was coming out of one of the toilets. Odd, because he was supposed to be on a flight that left earlier in the morning. He hadn't even stayed to the end of the party after the premiere for that reason. Tom hadn't seen him yet and Chris trotted to catch up with him to ask what happened.

"Tom," he called out when he was close enough it wouldn't attract much attention. Tom kept on walking as if he didn't hear. Chris tried again. "Tom."

His friend turned and Chris almost tripped on his own feet at the sight of him. Tom looked awful. His clothes were rumpled, his eyes were red and puffy, and his face was pale, as if he was about to be sick.

"Chris," he replied, voice strangely hoarse.

"What happened mate? I thought your flight was hours ago."

Tom looked down, fascinated by the buckle on his bag all of a sudden. "Yeah, it was. There was... uh... a problem with security. It's all fine. It... it just took a while to sort out."

Chris watched Tom fiddle with the strap of his bag and saw his hands were trembling. "You alright man? You look ill."

"Bad breakfast," Tom said. "Didn't sit well."

If Chris hadn't heard the lie in Tom's words, the weak, forced smile on his face when he looked up for a second would have given him away. His friend had such an open face it was easy to spot when his expression wasn't genuine. "Tom, did something happen?"

"I'm fine," he insisted, eyes downcast again. "Everything's fine."

"You don't look fine. What's wrong?"

He went to put his hand on Tom's arm but the moment he made contact, Tom wrenched himself away. The abruptness of it shocked them both, leaving them standing there like idiots until Chris suggested they continue talking somewhere else. He remembered one of the airport lounges had a several private booths and led the way there. He didn't miss the way Tom seemed to be favouring one leg as they walked. There was no question, something was very wrong.

They made it to the lounge without anyone accosting them for pictures or autographs. Chris chose the booth farthest from the entrance and they sat down. He ordered a coffee for himself and Tom asked only for ice water.

"What is it, Tom? Yesterday you were fine and today you look like death warmed over. Not to mention your clothes look slept in and you have a limp. What happened?"

Tom buried his face in his hands. "I don't want to talk about it. "

"Tom, it's me. You don't have anything to be embarrassed about. You have seen me naked, remember." If he thought alluding to the MTV thing would help lighten the mood, Chris was very wrong. On the other side of the booth, Tom crumpled. His shoulders spasmed from what looked to Chris like a dry heave. He cursed under his breath, then asked, "Do you need a doctor?"

Tom shook his head. Chris didn't say anything else for a few minutes, hoping Tom would break the silence himself but it didn't happen. His friend didn't speak, didn't move, nothing. He stayed with his head down and his hands clasped behind his neck. Not even when their drinks arrived did he look up. Whatever the problem was, he wasn't going to come clean on his own

"Look, Tom. You're one of my best friends and I'm not going to leave you like this because to be honest, you're scaring the hell out of me."

"Don't you have a flight?"

Chris waved his hand. "Not for a few hours. Had to be out of the hotel before noon and I didn't feel like killing time downtown. Plus you never know when security's gonna be a nightmare."

Tom shuddered again. Either he was ill and for some reason didn't want to say, or something awful had happened. Could it be the security thing?

"What happened with that security issue?" Chris asked.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said again.

"Why?" Chris pressed him. "What did they do that has you acting like this?"

"I can't, Chris."

Chris leaned back from the table, rubbing a hand over his mouth and chin. The waitress was coming back to their table but he waved her off before Tom saw her and used it as an excuse to clam up. He turned back to his friend who had finally dropped his hands from his face. Tom still wasn't looking at him but Chris decided it was progress all the same. He leaned forward again and placed his hand on Tom's.

"You're my friend, Tom, and I'm yours. Whatever's bothering you I promise I'll do my best to help."

Tom stared at their hands for a long moment before pulling his away. "I don't... it was humiliating. Don't make me do this."

Every word from Tom made Chris more concerned. It wasn't like Tom at all to hide things or to be so reluctant to confide in him. They joked about being honourary brothers but it was pretty much the truth and everything about Tom had him as worried as if Tom really was his flesh and blood. He was usually the most happy-go-lucky person Chris knew but right now he looked as if he wanted nothing more than to crawl in a hole and die.

"I wont make you do anything," he assured Tom. "But I'm also not leaving you alone like this, no matter what happened."

At long last, something gave and Tom started talking. His usual eloquence was completely missing, something Chris found disconcerting at first. That little bit of discomfort was soon eclipsed by something worse when Tom started telling him about a strip search. He listened in shock as his friend described what he was sure any legal expert would call sexual assault. Stories of TSA agents being too aggressive in doing their jobs were nothing new but what happened to Tom went way beyond that.

"The background check confirmed who I am and what I said about the prop gun," Tom explained near the end of his story. "They confiscated it, of course, then let me go. I have to get myself on another flight now."

"Did you report them?" Chris asked.

Tom almost laughed. "Report them to who? For what? It's my word against theirs. What would I even say? I had a wank while your guy strip searched me because I tried to sneak a gun onto a plane?"

"Of course not," Chris scoffed. "That's not what happened. And I don't buy that there's no camera in that room. Maybe you just couldn't see it."

"Oh, that makes it so much better."

"I don't mean it like that," he said. "I'm pretty sure you're right about how there's supposed at least two people present during a search, which means this guy broke the rules in more ways than one. And you said you asked him to wait, and to stop when he didn't. If that's on the tape then it's not just your word. There's a record. "

"Even if there was a camera it won't change anything," Tom objected. "All it means is that someone saw what was going on and did nothing to stop it. If I make an issue they'll probably just say they can't release the tape because of 'National Security' or something."

"You can't do nothing, Tom."

"Yes I bloody well can. I just want to go home and never talk about this again."

"Tom-"

"No." Tom had a white-knuckled grip on his glass. "If I report this you know it'll go public. I'll be in London when the story breaks. UK paparazzi are like sharks during a feeding frenzy and I'll have thrown blood in the water. I won't be able to hide from it because of the _Coriolanus_ rehearsals. I'll have no choice but to face them every day when I go to work. They'll harass my mum and Emma..." he trailed off with a wince. After a long pause, he continued, "Besides, you know how the story will play in the press. ' _Spoiled brat actor whinging about not getting his way and making up stories to make the poor security people just doing their jobs look bad_ '."

"That's not even close to the truth," Chris protested.

"Yeah, you know that because you know me. Gossip rags don't care about truth as long as the story's a good one. They'll invent all kinds of anonymous sources to talk about how I'm a liar and attention whore or how I have a badly concealed exhibitionist side. No one will care about the truth, just the juicy bits I can't disprove. I don't want the scandal. I don't want it for me or for my family. I don't want it for the film..."

"Tom, the last thing you should be thinking about right now is the film."

Tom sighed, sounding more weary than Chris ever heard him before and went on as if he hadn't heard a word. "People still talk about George Michael and Roman Polanski. This will follow me around the rest of my life."

"Hang on," Chris told him. Tom's natural tendency toward self-deprecation was one thing but he was not about to let his friend compare himself to a sex-offender. "This is completely different than them. They weren't the victims, you are."

"Victim," Tom snorted, looking away. When he continued he sounded as if he was about to be sick again, his voice thick with disgust. "Of the two people in that room, only one of us got off and it wasn't the TSA guy. How am I supposed to call myself a victim after that?"

"You were still forced. Coerced," Chris pointed out. "And it's not unheard of for rape victims to orgasm during the act, but stimulation and desire aren't the same thing."

There was a beat where neither one spoke before Tom huffed out a strained laugh. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

Chris let himself relax a tiny bit. "I know."

"Oh my god," Tom groaned, crossing his arms on the table and resting his head on them. "I just want to make this day unhappen. It's all Steve's fault."

"Steve?"

Tom lifted his head but stayed slouched over the table. "The character from the MTV sketch."

Chris had to chuckle then. It was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one, when Tom joined in. He figured it had to help get rid of some of the tension. Before long, they both sobered again.

"Look, I understand why you want to keep it private," Chris began. "But what if this wasn't the first time that guy did something like this? What if he does it again only next time it's a teenager who forgot a pocket knife or a joint in his bag? Tom, what if it was Emma or Elsa?"

Tom looked at him with eyes welling tears. "That's not fair."

"I know, I know" he conceded. "None of this is. But could you really live with yourself knowing that guy's still in a position to abuse others? If you don't want to go all the way to pressing charges, at least report him to TSA. We can try to get him fired."

"We?" Tom asked, eyebrows furrowing.

"Yeah. I'll go with you. I can vouch for your honesty." Chris then watched with slight confusion as Tom wiped away a few tears. Then he got it. "Did you really think you were going to be alone in all this?"

Tom's shoulders quirked up in a shrug.

"God, Tom," Chris sighed. "What made you think I wouldn't have your back?"

"You have a wife and a family," Tom said quietly. "The last thing you or anyone else needs is to be caught up in a sex scandal."

"This is different," he said again. "You didn't get caught having sex with an underage girl or anything like that, for god's sake. You made an honest mistake and were subjected to something unspeakable because of it. Don't believe for a second that means you don't deserve to have us all standing by you. Hell, I bet if I got on the phone now I could have everyone who was at the premiere last night here in an hour."

"Maybe you should call Natalie," Tom replied, making a valiant effort to smile despite the tears that continued falling from his eyes. "She can give him that famous right hook."

"Maybe I should," he agreed.

There came another lull in the conversation while Tom mulled things over and Chris let him. He didn't want to push Tom into anything even if his own instincts were telling him to find and beat the hell out of the one who did this to him.

"You'd really go with me?" his friend asked.

"Say the word, mate."

Tom took a deep breath. "Then let's go before I lose my nerve."

Chris was already sliding out of the booth. "I'm right behind you."

~~~|~~~

  
The morning weather was cool but sunny, perfect for running. Tom finished the last few metres of his circuit and trotted up his front steps. The Donmar's run of _Coriolanus_ finished a few days prior and Tom felt tremendous. The show went so well, the cast was amazing, and the audiences always appreciative. If there was any hiccup at all it was him being whacked in the head by a door after their last show. He felt a bit foolish weaning a plaster on his forehead like a five year-old but the scab was still fresh and he didn't want to make it worse by forgetting himself and scratching it or something. They were starting _Crimson Peak_ soon and he didn't want to make the job of the make-up department harder for something so silly.

He strode inside his flat, slinging the door closed behind him. He only just took his shoes off when his mobile chimed. Picking it up, he saw a familiar name on the display.

"Hi Chris."

"Hey man," Chris greeted him in turn. "How ya goin'?"

"Good," he panted into the phone. "You?"

"Alright. Still in L.A. with all the awards stuff."

"Sounds like a real drag," he said in a wry tone. Tom propped the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could unzip his jacket. "Hang on, what time is it there?"

"Late. Or early, depending how you look at it."

"Ah. How are Elsa and India?"

There was no mistaking the affection in Chris's voice when he answered, "Beautiful. Elsa sends her love."

Tom dropped his jacket onto the back of a chair. "So, to what do I owe the honour of this call? Not that you need a reason."

He waited through a short pause before Chris asked, "You're leaving for Toronto soon, yeah?"

"Tonight," he answered, unable to hide his surprise. "How did you remember that?"

"Just did."

"Well then I certainly hope you 'just' remember your wedding anniversary as well as you did that little detail," Tom joked. He had the satisfaction of getting a laugh from Chris before the other asked,

"Seriously though, you gonna be alright?"

It was Tom's turn to hesitate before answering. This would be his first time flying since the incident at LAX and he'd be a liar if he said it wasn't on his mind. The weeks following that day were definitely a test of his endurance. Like most things though, the anticipation was worse than the reality. The person in charge of the TSA agents in the airport listened to his story without arguing or disputing his claims, but he didn't seem inclined to action until Tom mentioned the baton. It was then Tom learned the weapon was not standard equipment for their people. Right away Tom could tell the supervisor was taking his claims more seriously. He was no longer just a disgruntled flyer taking it out on a convenient target but someone with a serious grievance. There was one horribly awkward moment when Tom went to reveal the bruise on his thigh, remembering only too late he wasn't wearing underpants. It wasn't all bad though. No underwear meant marks left behind by the agent's hand on Tom's hip were also visible, lending further credence to his story. He hadn't even noticed them himself before then.

The TSA supervisor promised to launch an internal investigation of the incident and took all of his personal information so they could follow up with him if need be. Tom wasn't home a week before he was notified the agent in question was fired. The wave of relief he felt was so intense he almost fell to his knees right there in his kitchen.

At the time all he'd wanted to do was stick his head in the sand and pretend the assault never happened. Meeting Chris at the airport made all the difference in the world. If Tom had just walked away and never told a soul, he had no doubt the experience would have haunted him as much for what happened as for his refusal to take any action after. Knowing that predator was still in his job, still able to do the same to others would have plagued him to his dying day. He was so fortunate to have had a friend nearby that day. True to his word, Chris stayed with him the whole time as he made his report. Telling a complete stranger was much harder than a friend and several times Tom had to fight the urge to just cut and run. Having Chris in the room gave him courage and reassured him he wasn't the 'degenerate' the agent labelled him as. Chris was visible, tangible evidence proving what happened wouldn't change how others felt about him. When they were finished, he saw Tom off on a later flight even though it meant missing his own.

Of course, keeping quiet would have spared him when the ex-TSA officer did try selling the story to the gossip sites. By then at least Tom had the chance to tell his friends and family what happened so no one was caught unawares. It also meant he faced the situation assured of their support. The man tried to paint the incident as an injustice, another case of a celebrity abusing their influence to get rid of someone who didn't pander to their whims. It didn't work. Tom's reputation for being polite and kind, not to mention humble and honest, was backed up by everyone, just like Chris said it would be. Only the most cynical of skeptics thought there was any truth to the agent's account, though some said they doubted a number of the details. TSA wouldn't comment when media outlets contacted them except to state the agent was fired for grossly inappropriate conduct, use of excessive force, and several other violations of their code of conduct.

In the end, Tom chose not to press criminal charges. It caused some contention among his family and friends but in time they agreed it had to be his choice. He didn't doubt he'd have their support if he did go ahead with judicial action; it was just there was a line he couldn't make himself cross, even with help. A trial, and he was confident there would be one since the TSA agent already proved he would lie about what happened, would be excruciating. There was no telling how many times he would have to retell the story. He'd have to sit there while prosecutors made him go through it over and over to see if he ever changed the details. Then he'd have to do the same in front of defense attorneys whose only real concern would be raising their own profile in the media regardless of how low they had to stoop to do it. He would not only have to relive the experience over and over, but also endure people trying anything to discredit him. And in the end, the man might still go free and Tom would accomplish nothing save for prolonging the scandal's life in the media.

As it was, the remaining few weeks of _Coriolanus_ rehearsals were dogged by paparazzi. For Tom, it was almost worse than the assault itself. Every day going to and from the theatre he was hounded by cameras, with the people behind them shouting questions ranging from absurd to downright disgusting to get a rise out of him. On a couple occasions his family got similar treatment, albeit to a lesser degree. It made him furious but he never showed his real feelings in front of the media. Doing so would be a surefire way of dragging out the process, he knew. His castmates were understanding and supportive, never blaming him for being distracted. When he proved to be a less than entertaining target, the harassment from the press lessened. Soon enough another scandal came along and the paparazzi moved on.

By the time the show opened, he was enjoying relative peace and was regret-free. That wasn't to say he didn't have any bad days. He had trouble with anxiety sometimes, something the therapist his mother encouraged him to see claimed was normal. And there was still the occasional reporter or passersby shouting obscene comments at him in the street. All in all though, the bad days were far outnumbered by the good.

"Tom? You still there?"

"Yeah," he told Chris, shaking his head for getting so lost in his thoughts. "Sorry, I was just thinking."

"So... you think you'll be okay?"

"I'll be fine," he replied.

"You're sure?"

Tom smirked even though no one was there to see. "Just out of curiosity, what would you do if I said no?"

"Hire you a bodyguard," Chris answered without missing a beat.

Tom was only half sure it was a joke. "I won't need one. I really am fine."

"Good. Will you do me a favour though?"

"What's that?"

"Call me when you get there. I don't care about the time, just let me know everything's okay."

"Wow," Tom said dryly. "When did you become my mother?"

"I'm serious."

Tom smiled to himself. "I'll call you. Now get to bed, would you?"

"Now who's being mother?" Chris cracked.

They both laughed and Tom was about to say goodbye when he realized something. There was something he hadn't yet said to his friend. "Chris?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you," he said. "I never would have had the courage to do the right thing if you weren't there."

"Yes you would have," Chris told him with confidence. "It might've just taken you a little longer."

Tom still had his doubts but he didn't voice them. "Well, in any case, I'm glad you were there. I really needed a friend that day."

"Then I'm glad I was there too."

They said their goodbyes and Tom stayed staring at his mobile for a few minutes after the call ended. Feeling a bit inspired, he opened his Twitter app and started to type.

_Run round Regent's Park in the sunshine this morning. A breath of freedom. Feeling so grateful for so many things. What an amazing life._

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks for reading.


End file.
